Page 22 of The Princess's Pet

What did it mean that her bookcase was full of such books? Did it reveal anything about her personality or what she liked or disliked? So far, I had learned very little about the Princess. I knew she was strong and could handle a sword. I knew that she had friends here at the Academy, but I got the impression that her relationships were strained in some way. And I also knew that despite the air of assured confidence and dominance that the Princess radiated, that she had experienced pain. It was only a flash across her face, a flicker, barely there, the previous day, but I had seen it.

The Princess was an enigma that a part of me very much wanted to unravel and know as completely as I knew myself.

“Find a title, you’d like to read?” the Princess asked unexpectedly. I had not heard the shower turn off or her approach.

“No, I was just looking, Ma’am,” I said, and I turned to see the Princess dressed rather casually. Black low waisted jeans hugged her wide hips, and a short, dark grey top allowed a sliver of her skin to show and strained against her chest. I gulped upon becoming very aware that she wore no bra.

She hummed, her eyes flashing bright and back to liquid silver. “Go wash and change out of that uniform, pet,” she commanded, and I felt a little dismissed but hurried to do as I was told.

Once I had showered, I inspected the clothes the Princess had said were mine, looking for something to wear. All the clothing was simple, in design and colour, but seemed to be precisely my size. I decided upon black cotton joggers and a tank top to match. The Princess hadn’t indicated that we would be leaving, and I wanted to be comfortable.

When I exited the bedroom, the Princess turned her gaze away from a book in her hands and met my eyes. She leaned forward to place the book down on the coffee table.

“Come here, pet,” she demanded, casually leaning back against the couch and watching me as I walked toward her. “Sit,” she commanded, and patted her thigh.

I hesitated, looking at her lap and back to her eyes. “On your lap?” I clarified. Her eyes hardened and her jaw tensed fractionally. She didn’t reply, and I took a breath to steel myself and moved forward, rather awkwardly sitting myself sideways across her lap. Her arms wrapped around my waist and under my knees, adjusting me to her comfort. The arm around my waist remained to hold me tight in place. The position was the same as my first night with the Princess, when she drank from me, and a stone of uncertainty and fear rested in my belly.

She bent her head forward to take a deep breath through her nose.

“Why are you scared?” she questioned, pulling away, and meeting my gaze.

“The last time…” I trailed off, and she smiled softly at me.

“I’m not going to feed from you tonight,” she told me. “And as I said this morning, when I next feed from you, pet, you’ll beg for me to do so,” she continued, a confident grin gracing her lips.My face flushed. As much power as the Princess seemed to have over my body, I doubted that I’d ever ask her to bite me. It hurt, and just the thought scared me.

“What are you reading?” I asked, wanting to change the subject away from topics that made me feel so conflicted. Her talk of me begging her, was sparking heat in my core as well as fear.

She glanced at the book on the table. “I’m reading the history of a great betrayal,” she stated, and I huffed at the answer. She hummed, amused, and leaned into my neck, inhaling deeply, her lips ghosting over my skin, as she continued. “Many years ago, before this kingdom was united under the Borealis coven, the land was split between many smaller kingdoms. Records weren’t well kept back then, and most histories were passed on through stories. There is one story that has many versions; you might have heard it yourself, it is said that a young king was betrayed by his dearest friend.”

She paused, leaning backing into my neck and carefully nipping my flesh with her teeth, her tongue sweeping out after, and a soft rumble in her chest that I more felt vibrate through her to me than heard. “Have you heard the story, pet?” she questioned. I cleared my throat, but when I spoke my words were still breathy from her actions.

“No, Ma’am.”

“Would you like to hear the version of the story I believe most true?” she asked softly against my skin, her hand not holding my waist, moving to ghost her fingertips along my thigh with feather softness, that caused a shiver to run through me.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered, barely able to speak above a whisper.

“There was a young king, a pureblood vampire, however, before he was a king, he was but a boy. The youngest son of his father, and he was not expected to become king. This allowed himfreedoms that his older siblings did not have. While his two older brothers were groomed for the throne, he was left to explore the castle and grounds, with all the freedom and carefree nature of a boy prince. He made friends with his servants and the people of the nearest village. He did not have to keep his distance or worry about what was proper, as he was all but forgotten by his father. One day while out riding he fell from his horse. He was alone and injured when a peasant boy from a nearby farm heard his cries for help.” Her hand on my waist pushed up the fabric of my top to allow cool fingers to rest against my heated flesh.

“The peasant boy helped the prince, and the prince was grateful, for without the other boy's help he would surely have died. The prince and the boy became friends, the best of friends. The peasant boy was more like a brother than the prince’s own blood. But everything was soon to change for the prince. Their kingdom went to war with a neighbouring kingdom. The war lasted many years, during which the boy prince became a man. The war was hard on both sides, and the prince’s elder brother was killed in battle, closely followed by his second eldest brother. Unexpectedly, he became next in line for the throne. Tragically, his father was said to have succumbed to an illness, his grief at the loss of his sons too much to bear, and the prince became king.”

“What about the Queen?” I asked, breathily, when the Princess paused to run her nose along my neck. I was captured by the story, by the sound of her voice as she spoke. If it wasn’t for her touch, soft and gentle, which in contrast created small, exciting sparks beneath my heated skin, her voice alone could soothe me to sleep.

“The story does not mention a Queen, as is often the case, great women are forgotten by history. I suspect if a woman had been involved, this story would not be a tragedy,” she answered before continuing where she left off.

“The boy prince, now a man and king, entrusted his army to his best friend. He needed someone he could trust to help him win the war, and who was better than his friend, who he knew so well and who had saved his life when they were boys. His friendmade a great leader of his army. Together they defeated the other kingdom and took the land and people for their own, expanding the kingdom. As a reward, and because his friend had proven so worthy, he gave his friend great swathes of land, money, and positions of power. And the kingdom grew in prosperity and the land knew peace for a time.

“The king was happy and content, and was free to live as though he was once again a carefree prince as he could trust his friend to run everything of importance. But one day, the king awoke from his sleep to find his friend within his chambers. At first, he thought his friend had come to discuss matters of the kingdom and that he had overslept, but as he sat up and saw his soldiers surrounding the bed, he knew that something was wrong. His friend sneered at the king and told him that he was there to kill him and take the throne as his own. The king laughed and mocked his friend and stated that his soldiers would not harm him. But when his friend gave the command, the king's soldiers stabbed the king to death in his bed. Thus, it was the king's most trusted friend who murdered him and took his throne.”

The Princess finished, and she pulled away from my neck to watch me.

“Did it really happen?” I asked, confused as to whether the story was real events or just a story. “Why would his friend betray him after the king gave him so much?” I continued. The story sat uncomfortably with me. Why would the friend, more like a brother, kill the king?

“All legends start somewhere, and those that prevail do so because they tell a universal truth about people,” the Princess answered.

“And what truth does this story tell?” I asked, meeting her eyes that glowed slightly now.

“That power, easily given, cannot so easily be taken back. That it is those closest that are most capable of causing the greatestharm to us.” The Princess growled, and I realised that the story affected her deeply.

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